


remember these faery lights

by Kendarrr



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, Faeries - Freeform, Faery!Rachel, I'm going to count it, Princess!Quinn, Someone dies but they come back to life, does that count?, fairy tale, just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendarrr/pseuds/Kendarrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>fairy tale AU.</b> Quinn is a princess, the sole heir of the realm. While visiting the plains, Quinn encounters a storyteller that tells her about the enchanted forest. Ever the curious human, Quinn finds herself wandering through the forest where she meets the faery queen, Rachel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remember these faery lights

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a faery tale kick recently. This is the product of said kick.

It was common knowledge between the peasantry of the southernmost half-town that the enchanted forest beyond the bend of the road was off limits. It led nowhere. There was no reason for anyone, from a merchant to a princess, to wander down the dirt road and towards the mouth of the wood.

The path that no foot had trodden in decades continued to be a road. Grass refused to grow over the dirt. No matter how much grass seedlings the peasants scattered over the trail to prevent travelers from losing their way, the slips refused to flourish, and so, the path remained, leading into the maw of the black forest where tree trunks and branches act as the teeth, the stream as the tongue that led into the throat of the beastly forest.

Weeks prior to the start of the harvest season, King Russell, a fierce but fair ruler, decided to traverse the landscape of his kingdom to personally see to its issues and worries. He recently came from the far north, where the ice merchants offered him and his queen a new concoction. They called it ice cream. At first, he was about to behead them for wasting his time and resources, but at the look of delight from his princess and sole heir, his concrete heart softened. He purchased twenty gold pieces worth of the cool, sweet stuff.

Eastward, King Russell’s riders and carriages travelled to the land of fruit trees and wine. It was his favourite region. After Quinn finished off the ice cream they purchased from the ice merchants, they then filled that wagon with casks of sweet wine and mead for the king. For days, the sound of song and laughter permeated the royal train wherever it stayed for the night.

When they reached the southern plain, they were met with nothing but grass and trees. This was the untouched land where no towns flourished. Only smatterings of half-towns, hamlets, and villages, and none that settled close to the mysterious forest where King Russell’s reign ended.

The regal princess, the king’s only child, Quinn, regarded the path that led into the thicket of trees while self-appointed mayor of the largest settlement in the southern region warned them of the forest’s dangers. “Once, a group of thugs—six of them—made an attempt to steal and slaughter our sheep.” He said over the crackling fire, while King Russell drank his ale. The tall, bearded man’s amber eyes glistened as he focused his story-telling on the princess who watched him with rapt attention. “We heard them approaching fifty miles off, we did.” He rubbed his beard and nodded his head as if agreeing with himself.

“But then we heard howling too, the same night we’re sure the bandits were to come.” The man’s voice lowered and Quinn had to grip her father’s arm. “Wolves! my comrades shouted. And I thought, oh my, I had enough on my plate right now!” The storyteller took a slow draught of his drink, and Quinn waited as patiently as she could muster.

“What happened next?” She demanded.

The mayor of the half-town laughed. “Aye, your majesty. On one end of the town, we hear the gallop of the bandits’ horses. On the other, the wolves. We stood in the town square with our torches and our pitchforks, unsure of who to face. Closer, closer, closer… We can hear them thundering, or mayhap it was our hearts, pounding against our ribcages?”

Quinn swallowed hard, her hazel eyes dancing with the firelight. She could feel the sparse hairs on the back of her neck crawl. “But then,” the storyteller’s voice softened. “There was this quiet, this stillness that was louder than any roar or any scream. Wind blew from the wood like a ghost whispering, and we heard _it._ ”

“What? Heard what?”

“Quinn, you are hurting my arm.” King Russell said soothingly.

She loosened her hold on her father’s sleeve and gripped her knees over her dress instead. The storyteller’s eyes twinkled. He took another swig of his drink. “The singing, your majesty.”

“From the wood?” Quinn’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said that no civilized folk lived within the forest.”

“Aye, I did say that.” He said with a nod. “But who’s to say that faery folk cannot sing?”

“That’s impossible.” Quinn said indignantly. “You talk of sirens but they only exist by the sea. They cannot survive in the forest with only a stream the source of their water.”

The storyteller nodded again. “Pardon my insolence, your highness, but these are magical folk. Their rules are not the same as ours.” His tone of voice made Quinn’s entire body tremor just as a whistle of wind blowing past the cracks of the house. Doors and windows rattled in their hinges as the cold night’s gusts begged to be let in.

“And then?”

“Everyone stopped to listen to the singing.” He said simply. “Hypnotic, it was. I saw grown men cry. The blacksmith, the woodcutter… They bawled their eyes out. I even shed a tear or two. It was some beautiful singing. And it was beckoning us right into the woodland.”

“Even the wolves?”

He nodded. “Aye. Everything was still but the wind and it guided us to the edge of the wood, where the trees are the thinnest. But with every step we took, it got colder and colder. Like the north, but here we are at the south.”

“How did you get away?”

“I can’t say I remember what transpired.” The storyteller admitted, and Quinn almost did something unladylike. “All I remember was the bandits yelling and screaming while the wolves attacked them. Their eyes were red and fierce. When they finished up with the bandits I thought we were as good as dead, but… There was this voice. Melodious like the song. It sounded like an angel of God, and it bid the wolves to calm and to run into the forest. We never had a bandit attack, nor heard wolves howling since.”

* * *

That night, Quinn rolled around in her straw bed. She had her own bell tent for a room. It was nothing compared to her chambers back in the castle, but it was a sacrifice she willingly made if it meant seeing the far reaches of the kingdom that was to be hers. She heard the night crickets and the dying crackle of the fire. The smell of smoke and the cool night air was intoxicating, reminding Quinn just how exhausted she was. She spent the entire day helping the peasants, as much as they insisted that she was a princess, and their work was no work for the likes of her.

Quinn tucked her blanket under her chin and drifted off into the haze of almost-sleep. She paid no heed to the murmuring of her father’s guard. They were nothing but white noise, and soon enough, Quinn fell asleep.

Perhaps it was a dream, but it felt like it was not. Quinn heard a soft song trickling into her tent. A soft whisper of a beautiful canticle. It was so beautiful that Quinn found her legs dangling off the bed, putting on her slippers, and slipping past her dozing guards. The path that lead to the mouth of the wood beckoned her. Lit up by the glassy moonlight, Quinn felt the soft earth beneath her feet, but try as she might, she was unable to walk on her own volition.

Not that Quinn wanted to. Ever since she heard the story, her adventurous spirit longed to know what was behind the thicket of trees. However, Quinn wished that she could have worn a more appropriate attire than her nightgown and her slippers.

Past the stream that slithered, and deeper beyond the copse of trees was a denser, thicker ring of trees. Branches brushed the top of Quinn’s blonde head, and the rich smell of the earth and the leaves filled her nose.

The song beckoned her deeper into the bosom of the wood, and like a nursing child, Quinn took each step willingly, until she reached a clearing with nothing but a tree stump right in the center. And on top of it was a creature with dark, flowing hair tied in a loose braid, a prominent nose, and tawny legs tucked beneath the creature’s body.

“Oh, look what my song brought to me.” She had a feminine voice. Clad in a dress of leaves both dried and green, the faery rose and approached Quinn. By then, she had her wits about her yet she remained rooted to the ground. “What’s the matter? Pixie got your tongue?”

“No.” Quinn murmured. She curtseyed, dipping her head slightly. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance.”

The woodland creature laughed. From Quinn’s basic knowledge of faery lore, this faery might be a sprite or a dryad, but she was not sure. “What are you, exactly?”

“Me? I’m a woodland siren. My name is Rachel of the Berries.”

“I’ve never heard of a woodland siren before.” Quinn said eagerly. “Sirens are almost always located by the sea, are they not?”

Rachel sat back down, legs crossed. She leaned back against the tree stump and eyed Quinn. “Fair exchange, human. I gave you my name. Now give me yours.”

Taken aback, Quinn curtseyed once more. “My name is Quinn of the Fabrays and I am a princess. My father is the king, you see.”

“Not in this realm, you’re not!” Rachel’s smile was startling and bright. She hopped up and twirled in a circle. “What kind of a name is Quinn anyway?”

“A queenly one!”

A cicada screeched. Rachel keeled over and laughed. She clutched her belly, crows flying away at the sound of her rambunctious laughter. “I do hope humans are not particular towards funny royalty.”

Quinn sighed and rubbed her temple. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

“I am _the_ faery queen. For the season, at least.” Rachel did a little dance. “You heard my song, correct? It is why you are here, after all. Humans are always so blessedly curious.”

“Your song was beautiful.” Quinn said. She followed Rachel as her tiny wings fluttered, lifting her up a few feet off the ground. Together they traversed deeper into the wood, past pixies dancing in circles and sprinkling faery dust across the dirt ground. Past a group of undines taking a dip in the cool stream. As they walked, Quinn noticed the moon past the roof of leaves like a compass guiding them.

Rachel turned to face Quinn as she floated along. “I suppose since we are from different realms, our status as queen is not much to boast about. We are equals.”

They continued on, deeper into the wood. Quinn hesitated to ask. “Where are we heading? I fear it is much too late, and I do not know if I can go back from where I entered.”

A butterfly floated on Rachel’s extended finger. “Worry not, Quinn.” She stood on her bare feet and cleared her throat to speak a little rhyme:

_“A second there is a minute here_

_Time flows different here I fear._

_An hour here is a moment there,_

_O mortal, have some time to spare?”_

 Rachel twirled and took a bow. “Like that? I wrote it myself.”

“I love it. You are immensely talented, Rachel.”

* * *

The hours Quinn spent with Rachel in her kingdom of trees and plants was the most fun she had in all the seven and ten years of her life. At the peak of a mountain, they huddled together after having known each other for mere hours—or moments. Quinn closed her eyes, having only slept a wink. She did not feel her weariness any longer. All she felt was Rachel’s warmth, the tickle of the blanket of soft pine needles, and the golden sun rising beyond the apple grove.

As Quinn burrowed closer into the earthy scent of Rachel, she felt the siren’s lips trace the curve of her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“My apologies. Did I wake you?” Quinn shook her head, and Rachel seemed to melt against her. “I’m afraid I have to tell you something.” Rachel said in a soft voice as if she was afraid of being heard. “As I told you, faery queens rule per season. I was not completely honest about that. You see, in order to rule, one must show one’s strength. Unlike your mortal system, simply being the daughter of a king is not enough in this realm.”

Quinn nodded. “I understand that, but I fail to see the problem. You are strong. You are creative and charming. Witty and funny. What is not to like about you?”

The dark-haired creature wrenched free from Quinn’s grasp. “Yes, yes. I am all those things, but I am not what I _need_ to be. I need to be _strong_ , Quinn.” Rachel’s wings fluttered furiously, and she levitated over the edge of the cliff. “I-I don’t have the stomach to be a faery queen.”

“But what must a queen do to prove her strength?” Quinn asked.

“She has to kill those mortals who dare enter the wood.” Rachel’s lips were a grim line, and she avoided Quinn’s gaze at all costs. She knew what Rachel was telling her between the spaces of her words, in the pauses, in the lilts of her vowels. “My song is not inherently magical. It only is because I sing it that its power is recognized. It comes from the woods. And mortals such as yourself are so _damn_ curious!” Rachel clenched her hands into fists and darted into Quinn’s arms. “There were six men before, and now, _you_.”

Six men. The six bandits. “So it was you who protected the town from the thugs!”

Rachel’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked. “What thugs?”

Just then, an angry chorus of wings arose from the trees. Rachel tensed and she reached for Quinn’s hand. “You need to leave.”

“You won’t kill me?” Quinn asked, grasping Rachel’s fingers.

“Of course _not!_ Don’t be ridiculous!” Tears formed in the corners of Rachel’s eyes. “But you’re not safe here. I need to bring you back to your kingdom.” She heaved Quinn, but her wings were too small, too weak. Rachel’s wings buckled and together they plummeted off the cliff. Quinn screamed, refusing to release Rachel even as the enraged faeries chased after them.

The rush of wind made everything else impossible to hear. As Quinn closed her eyes and resigned herself to her fate, she heard the last words of a language she did not understand.

And then, everything stilled. Quinn was flying. For a moment, relief, thrill, and elation gushed throughout her body. The rush of falling off great heights. She opened her eyes as she hovered. Wings she did not have before kept her where she was. The other forest creatures were still after her.

Rachel was nowhere in sight. Dread replaced Quinn’s happiness. She darted into the roofed forest in search of her friend, the faery that stole her pure and unscathed heart. She reached the duff and saw her. Rachel’s body, bruised and still.

“Rachel!” Quinn scrambled towards her. Overhead, the pixies were communing with each other in search of their fallen queen and the mortal trespasser. “Rachel, _please_.” The princess whispered, her voice as broken as the body before her. She cradled the siren’s limp frame. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have entered your realm.”

“What are you talking about?” Quinn heard the low murmur of Rachel’s weak voice. “I led you in here. I sang you descants so I could meet you.” She lifted a cold palm and caressed Quinn’s cheek. “And I’m glad I did. You will make a wonderful queen someday, Quinn. It is in your name.”

Tears were impossible to stop from falling with the way Rachel was speaking. Quinn cried into the faery queen’s cheeks, grief filling her to the brim. “Why are you crying?”

“Why? Because I might lose you, Rachel, and I cannot bear that thought!”

“With loss comes adulthood.” She whispered. Her eyelids fluttered and in her eyes Quinn saw the entirety of the forest. Its depth and greatness. In Rachel’s eyes she saw her love for the woods, for all things living. “And you forget, my human queen, that I am a faery creature. We’re not dead _forever._ ” Rachel reached around Quinn, her palms dragging against her back to touch the glistening shape of her fluttering wings.

“I’ll come back.” Quinn promised. “When you’re back and you’re alive, I’ll return to these woods. Trespassing be damned.” She clutched Rachel’s hand that grew stonier by the second. “But when I do, will you remember me?”

A choked laughter from Rachel’s throat bubbled up. Around them, shimmering dust rose from the forest detritus and it swirled over Rachel’s body. Her skin glowed. “You are impossible to forget, Quinn. I’ll remember you. But promise me you’ll remember not my death, but these faery lights.”

It was a beautiful landscape. Sun rising off the distance, bathing the leaves with a golden glow. The faery lights lent an aura of warmth that reminded Quinn of Rachel when they were atop the cliff, not a moment ago. She longed for that now-distant memory of how close they were, how good everything felt when their skins touched. “I’ll remember this, I swear it.”

“Good.” Every second Quinn spend holding Rachel, she could feel her getting weaker and weaker. “Don’t cry for me, Quinn.”

The princess wiped her tears away and did something very human. She pressed her warm mouth against Rachel’s cold lips. As it turned out, Quinn’s human actions held magical consequences. A kiss was a spell that transcended both human and faery language. Yet this was no ordinary kiss. It was one of true love.

The wings on Quinn’s back exploded in a bout of dust; the last surge of magical energy erupted from Rachel. And then she was no more.

* * *

A year in the human realm is a thousand and one days in the faerie realm. Now a crowned queen of eighteen, Quinn and her royal servants once again travelled the roads to visit every region of her kingdom. Upon reaching the south, she hopped off her carriage and approached the maw of the black forest.

“Your highness! I’m afraid we cannot let you pass!” exclaimed one of her guards. “It is dangerous here.”

Quinn eyed him and pushed him aside. “I know what I am getting into. And perhaps it is dangerous for _you_.” She walked on despite the warnings of her guard. “But not for me.”

She remembered every bit of this. The bridge of fallen log that allowed her to cross the stream. The thick tree trunks, the branches that swayed with the night air. With every step, her heart wrenched. Fear was the strongest vice grip, and it clutched Quinn’s scarred heart in its claws.

Her fear was not of the dark wood, nor of the sounds the forest made at night. Quinn was not afraid of the pixies or of the faery folk that watched her.

The only thing Quinn was afraid of was not seeing Rachel again.

A song, like a thin gust of air floated towards Quinn. She knew that voice from anywhere, longed to hear it in every moment of her waking. Quinn followed the sound until she was running, dried branches cracking underfoot. Upon reaching the clearing, past the copse of pine and apple trees, she saw her.

Rachel. The faery queen of Quinn’s heart.

At first, she was unable to speak. What do you say to the siren that held the song of your happiness on her lips? What do you say to the only creature that ever touched the myth of your beating heart?

“I’ve been dreaming of this day.” Quinn took slow, deliberate steps. Rachel watched her approach her with those same eyes that held the love of the forest and of the trees. The same eyes Quinn dreamt of. “Rachel, do you remember me?”

“Time flows differently here, I fear.” Rachel murmured as she floated. She had wings again. Bigger and brighter than the ones before. “A moment in your world is an hour in mine, and it has been ages. I have waited long, but I do remember you, Quinn. How could I forget?”

To be remembered was a relief. To hold Rachel’s hand after months of longing was magic in its own right.

**Author's Note:**

> “We must not listen to those who advise us 'being men to think human thoughts, and being mortal to think mortal thoughts' but must put on immortality as much as possible and strain every nerve to live according to that best part of us, which, being small in bulk, yet much more in its power and honour surpasses all else.” **Aristotle**


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